


Glimpses into the hyponormal

by NotesFromTheVoid



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Rainbow, Spirits, Tears, Voidpunk, caverns, river - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 57
Words: 7,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotesFromTheVoid/pseuds/NotesFromTheVoid
Summary: The world is more beautiful than you know.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Most tears are clear, due to it mostly being salt and water

Occasionally though, when the stars align just right, one can cry rainbow tears

When this happens, it is common to bottle them, and carry as a good luck charm

However their uniqueness gives them power beyond that. To the point that some cultures consider the one who cries tears of rainbow to be blessed, a truly extraordinary individual who will soon escape into the Isles of the Blessed.

Witches prize this ingredient for use in potions, and having some causes interaction with spirits to be easier.

However the true, irreplaceable power of rainbow tears is when the tears fall onto the comforter of the crying, holding them in their arms, letting them know it's going to be ok  
When that happens, you know the friendship is going to last, and overcome any struggles that come your way.


	2. Chapter 2

The final to fall in the Autumn forest is a sacred one. If it blows into your face, it shall flow past you. Should you follow it, it will lead you to a pile of it's fellow leaves, going back centuries. They are all exactly as they fell for some unknown magic shall not let them decay.

Stretch back in the leaves, allow them to cushion you, relax. Don't worry about the little insects crawling out of the home they found in the golden leaves. They'll only give you exactly what you're worthy of


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes you come across a pool so crystal clear that it is like glass  
The pools can be entranceways  
Wait until midnight on a blue moon  
Take a deep breath, and barefoot, place your feet on the water  
The water will have turned to the clearest of aquamarine  
Be gentle, but quick this state won't last long  
Whisper your thanks as you traverse it  
The crystal will sink, forming a beautiful, intricate wall around it  
When this happens, close your eyes  
say to yourself  
"As blue moonlight brought me here, it shall release me when I am done and free from fear"  
Open your eyes when the sensation of floating takes you.  
Watch the amber light fill you, feel it energise you  
Touch the soft ground, let it strengthen you  
Hear the whistling, smell the sweet water  
Open your eyes  
Ascend  
You may return to your life  
You may not speak of it, for mortals are not allowed this knowledge


	4. Chapter 4

Rivers are inconstant spirits, due to constantly being in motion. This can make them playful and to the creatures that call it home, nourishing. However many rivers desire one thing it can never have: form.

Different river spirits have different ways of handling this desire

For many this merely comes as giving gentle hints to those who come to visit. If the river can't act out it's own will, it can get others to do it for them. Many have acted on the will of their local river without even realising it, and prolonged exposure makes one particularly susceptible.

Other rivers have darker methods.

When human take a riverside stroll, there will always eventually be one who is too clumsy or too reckless.

And this is a tragedy for them, but an opportunity for the river. If the soul has the fortune to survive their fall, they can come back changed, as the river forces part of it's soul into the weakened human's body. This enables the river to take on a human form for a short time. Many families have reported that a person comes out of a river changed.  
If they don't survive, the river gives the spirit a home.

However, the river will sometimes use their voice.

It is advised not to listen.


	5. Chapter 5

The phenomena of acid rain is well known to be a side effect of pollution. While this is true, a subcategory of acid rain is less well known. This occurs when swamp water mixes with dew as it evaporates, causing the different energies to react unusually, decreasing the pH of the water rapidly. Despite the low pH, very few people experience acid burned when exposed to it. It is merely one of a variety of side effects, which include indigestion, confusion, hallucinations and mild jaundice. Research is still being undertaken to explain the strange effects exposure has on individuals.


	6. Chapter 6

Stomach down in the forest dirt. Cover yourself in mud and moss and rotting leaves. Write down your full name under your head, each letter covering the last, so as to be unreadable. Sleep. The trees you dream under will tell you what they know. Secrets from their youth. Beware, for you have given yourself to the earth. One day you will return to that spot and your leaves will join the canopy.


	7. Chapter 7

People tell me that blood makes me human. The gift of life parents grant gives you humanity. But everyone can see that I'm not like them. They'll say I'm human when asked directly but they know better. The way my eyes move, the words that escape my mouth, my movement and gesture trying to express something humans can't see. This leaks my true nature to the humanity that surrounds me. Blood can lie. I know this when i feel stares follow me after i speak. I know this when groups form surrounding me but separate from me. But I also know when walking alone in the forest, feeling the rough bark give way to soft moss. Hearing the sound of my footsteps. Knowing my nature will keep me safe. I know this when I see the life far underwater, outside the atmosphere or in the imagination of creative minds, and know that they are my kin. We both know I am not one of the human race. Neither of us know the shape of my soul. But I know I will find out before you.


	8. Chapter 8

Do you know why you always put your bed against the wall?  
It's one of those things you don't think about  
Things fall down, water is wet, you make sure at least one side of the bed is against the wall  
Even trying to think about putting it somewhere not touching the wall feels...off, wrong even  
To answer this question, the usual answer is space. And yes while that is true to an extent, there's a deeper reason  
Many things lurk in the dark  
But ancient laws govern their magic  
To encase you  
To control you  
They must draw a circle around where you sleep  
People who's bed doesn't touch the wall report unsettling, unusually vivid dreams, the feeling of being watched, and they sometimes even disappear  
it's like they were never there  
So, over the millennia, humanity learned  
Sleep near the wall  
Don't let them complete the circle.  
It's safer to interact with the hidden ones while awake  
Sweet dreams


	9. Chapter 9

Contrary to popular understanding, magic can be just as precise an art as science. The principles of alchemy, sacred geometry, energy fields and herbology all combine to make every spell an intricate process that it takes many years to master. In fact, accomplished magic users often study the sciences to improve their craft.  
The line between magic and science is a relatively recent myth, as the upper class tried to distance themselves, and show how their knowledge was the superior to the knowledge of the common folk  
However, being underestimated has it's advantages as magic users often see uses in the things that more mundane minded people overlook.  
For further reading, see the works of Tiffany Ford (1689-1737) and Willow Rey (1638-1685)


	10. Chapter 10

At the moment where the blood moon reaches the highest point in the sky, do not go outside. At this moment the moon exhibits a force that compells blood to rise. Like a metal attracted to magnet, your blood drains up into the sky, before scattering, cursing those who touch it with illness and injury. Your body will be left as a lifeless shell, and no one will know how you lost so much blood.


	11. Chapter 11

An enormous dome stands above you, the millions of tiny multicoloured glass refracting the sunlight as many different ways. The colours reflect on you, the ground and everything encased within it, at once powered and made beautiful by the structure they live in. Walking through this light you find many rare and beautiful specimens of species within the plantae kingdom. Cross referencing your notes, you find the couple of species you were searching for. One has silver leaves with tiny dark spots covering every part of it. The other was tiny and if a shade of green so vivid you know it has to be toxic. Carefully, you take your cuttings, leaving most of the specimen within a greenhouse with many more colours than green. You still have other things to collect before you are ready.


	12. Chapter 12

A grey pile covers the floor. Ash. Still Warm. Recently Extinguished. You're tired, so tired. Lie down on the mattress of burned things. The combustion is a mystery for tomorrow. Just sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

Have you ever [redacted]?  
Deep inside you know what the redacted word is  
You don't want to answer, but you know you must  
A force at once within and without you compels you to answer.  
Static comes out of your mouth  
Something doesn't want to hear your reply  
You try again.  
More static  
Relief washes over you.  
But a presence compels you to stand up  
Walk out the front door.  
Go to the nearest public bench  
Kneel  
Have you ever [redacted]?  
Now is the time to answer the question?  
You know you must.  
But answering is the last time your soul is your own  
Have you ever [redacted]?  
Say goodbye to the self as you say goodbye to life as you knew it.  
What is your answer?


	14. Chapter 14

Listen to the gears clink as you turn your handle. They scrape and screech as they turn, unlubricated and rusty. Once this was the perfect machine. They said it could outlast time. You grit your teeth. Not much longer now. You hear the ghosts of the long dead's hubris, adding a haunting quality to your labour. The end is coming, you know this. Ignore the ache in your arms and shoulders. Keep turning. Turning. You will soon walk out the door behind you for the last time.


	15. Chapter 15

Run your hands along the damp rock. It's jagged, hard and cold. But in the pitch black it is your only guide.  
Don't mind the cold, you prepared for this. Take each step. One at a time. You look for the soft lighting of your destination. It's not too far.  
You hear the little creatures chirp and crawl around. Science may not have discovered but their sound is proof of their existence. Far from the sun's light, life is flourishing  
In the distance, you see a lavender light. Just a flicker but you quicken your pace. Soon enough, you enter the place you've searched for.  
Purple lanterns of glowing bacteria light the room. Small bowls of miraculously clear water cover the water  
You open your backpack and place the paper offerings into each of them  
Step back. The walls disappear, sliding away from sight.  
You see shelves of dark wood. They say it's easy to get lost here but you know what you're looking for..  
On one shelf, a book bound in black soft leather catches your eye. You reach out to get it. Written in sharp ink are a series of letters from a language long dead. You get out your notebook and begin to translate  
Recipes of potions. Instructions for how to bottle memories. Methods to incarnate the elements. Liquids that can heal and fluids that can harm. Many of the ingredients can be found easily, others are only found in obscure lands.  
Hours pass until your work is complete. You return the book to it's shelf, and kiss each bowl murmuring an incantation. You will be back but tonight your studies are complete. You can begin the long trek home.


	16. Chapter 16

In the valley between two mountains lies a small lake. On the shore of this lake is a unique flower. Black as the void, any water that drips onto the petals turns a deep purple. Over time, this means that the lake's shore has become the colour of blackberries. The most interesting feature of the flower, is that it only bears fruit during a solar eclipse. As the moon covers the sun, bulbs hidden underneath the petals open. The newly bared fruit glows with all the light it absorbed throughout the year, providing sunlight in a time when the sun has been taken.  
It is said eating this fruit gives luck, happiness and good health until the next solar eclipse


	17. Chapter 17

Never swallow a thorn, every nerve in your body will sharpen and harden until the rage of a dead flower possesses you to act out it's will and destroys you in the process, and no thorn has ever been a gentle spirit


	18. Chapter 18

Lie on the forest floor at the moment day becomes night. Close your eyes. You hear the calls of the nocturnal, a promise of life in the darkness, you hear the wind and the rustle of the leave. You feel the moss on the ground, and on the dead logs of trees long felled. Deep breaths now, for the mycelium has took root in you, and it will not be long before the voices of every piece of flora can speak to you, and you will hear their cries and their songs, their wishes and their fears, and the path you thought was your destiny will have grown over, allowing you to start a new journey.


	19. Chapter 19

Time is an acid, slowly dissolving everything you are and were. It is only willpower that lets the goo become more than week squidgyness. The earthly realms may seem naturally solid, but that takes effort. What will you form your goo into?


	20. Chapter 20

Every so often you head to the basement. In one of the cupboards lives a creature. It resembles a black fungus with tentacles but none of you are quite sure what it is. You sit next to the cupboard, knock gently, and wait. It pokes it's tentacle out, and you reach out to grab it. It slides out and holds itself to your arm and shoulder. It doesn't appear to have sight, but it always recognises you. Over time you have developed your own way of communication. The sounds it makes don't seem like language to others, but they just haven't put in the effort. You feed it left over crumbs from your dinner and spend the night working on your maths project with your strangest friend.


	21. Chapter 21

At the moment the witching hour begins, relax and think of the void. Let it into your mind. You will begin tomorrow just a little different, but you will be ready to choose a new path. The wisdom of the moss and mushrooms will guide you. Your own strength will power you. Just do not let fear of the unknown tame your spirit, because you are worthy of so much more.


	22. Chapter 22

The little dust particles that the wind blows off you take a piece of your spirit with you. You can replenish this spirit so it does not harm you. But one day, enough dust will stick together that it grows it's own sentience, a gross amalgam of all the souls it is made of. We have know way of knowing it's intentions. So be sure your spirit is full of kindness, it may save this new creature from the agony of malice.


	23. Chapter 23

fungi that lie below the earth, as i will one day feed you my form, feed me your secrets. What knowledge finds itself within your care, what secrets do you keep from your animalian cousins. Let me rest on top of your webs of whispers, and as i drift to sleep, let some of your whispers go through my ear and mind. You could kill me if you wanted, but you haven't for a reason, at least tell me this.


	24. Chapter 24

The sky needs to feed occasionally. It whispers in the dreams of those it selects, and they know their destiny is to provide nutrition to the dome of protective air that lies above the heads of mortals


	25. Chapter 25

You search through shelves and drawers. Rummaging, feeling through thick gloves. This place, seemingly abandoned, but you know that those that occupy this place do not always reveal themselves to the naked eye. Your hands come upon a medical blade, seemingly pristine, without a trace of rust or dirt. You open the sheet you brought with you and place the scalpel upon the centre of the pattern embodied on it. Speaking an arcane language, you ask the air and the wind to blow the answer into your ears. This is not what you were looking for. This is a cursed object, staining those it cuts with the pain of infection. It contains many diseases long eradicated, that warp the body and mind into pus and lesions and blood and vomit and faeces. The woman, who made this is long dead and her name lost to time, but it is known that she was a lady and scholar. The original purpose is unknown, but you can only imagine it was a horrific mistake or the instrument of terrifying revenge. You place the blade back when you found it. The search continues.


	26. Chapter 26

These sculptures dot the forest floor. Looking like glass mushrooms, with closer observation revealing tiny metallic threads, connected in a web throughout it's body, from the edges of the cap to the bottom of the stalk, and perhaps beyond. Sometimes, when the light hits just right, you could swear they glow, or move or shine in a way that seems unnatural. You leave the forest uncertain that they are mere sculptures.


	27. Chapter 27

The iridescent flower you pick has called. It keeps calling. A simple, two note call. You close your eyes and it guides you. You pluck it's petals. Slowly, one at a time. You can hear the call becoming more distinct. A sensation washes over you, from your hands, up your arms, to your head and toes. Simultaneously warm and cool, you drop to your knees, gripping the flower like a safety rope. You kneel there for who knows how long, almost overwhelmed, with tears ready to drip. You hear the call again, and you reach out a hand, compelled by a will not your own. Your hand is taken, and you are pulled to your feet. Still with your eyes closed, you hear a voice welcoming you, and leading you. The destination is unknown, but any tension leaves you body. You welcome this stranger and the unknown journey, for there are many questions left to discover.


	28. Chapter 28

A sip of liquid darkness touches your lips. The smoke curls around your feet, up your legs, covering you in it's silky embrace. Take the step as your senses intensify. You hear the whispers and buzzes of spirits the light overwhelms. Your fingertips run along a wall that guides you. Sink to the ground, listen to the wisdom that the light hides. Feel the secret knowledge run through you. And when you are ready, drift to peaceful rest, allowing the blackest of colours to blanket you, comforting you, protecting you from eyes that cannot see without light.


	29. Chapter 29

Abstraction. Pushing something down the scale, from real, to theoretical, to abstract. Turning from form to thought to feeling. Losing physicality and structure till you can be neither witnessed nor express. Is there a man upon the stair? Neither sight nor sound nor touch tells you that he is there but somewhere in your mind and gut you are convinced that he is there. Walking along the pavement you see buildings, blinds shut. The outside is very real but no sensation has ever proved the inside to be anything beyond the dim lights. The logical mind claims the internal dimensions are logical and normal but lack of proof is the presence of doubt. The people you meet are equally mysterious, at first appearing with the typical bland politeness you associate with strangers but their horror and confusion at every tiny part of the truth you reveal becomes more and more evident the more you converse. Why is their horror so painful, surely their emotions have no bearing on reality. But with every conversation you feel eyes not spot you, ears not hear you. The words you speak disappear into the breeze. Surely the breeze proves your existence but your actions and words continue to become void and responses become more insignificant. Distressed, you sleep. Occasionally, one will think aloud, experimenting with an idea, and you wake briefly, ready to attach yourself to existence, but it passes, and you return to the slumber of incorporeality. One day you will be real enough to be formed into words and actions of anger and joy. But for now, your exile from the realm of thought continues. I hope one day you ascend.


	30. Chapter 30

Have you ever taken a moment to rest outside? Sat down next to a tree or wall and just drifted into half sleep. Make sure you're properly awake when you select your resting place. The tired mind is suggestable, and the compelling whispers of the natural and otherworldly beings can be very persuasive. Or else their veins of flesh or vine will bury themselves into you as they sleep, replacing your blood with whatever resin feeds them. If you are lucky, you will have been selected to be it's pilot, carrying through wonders both natural and eldritch. If you are unlucky, your very soul and thoughts will have become part of a being that conquers the mind and souls it imprisons within itself. Regardless, no one who finds such beings will ever leave them.


	31. Chapter 31

Can you see the threads? They are tied to your finger. They are many colours and thickness and materials, though if you tried to analyse them it would come up inconclusive. Though presumably there is another end no matter how you move they neither stretch nor give slack. Sometimes you think you should follow them, but given that you cannot sever the threads from yourself, you fear that what they might lead to. But one day you will follow them. A combination of their hold and your curiosity will compel you to follow the path they have marked out for you. I wish you luck on this quest.


	32. Chapter 32

To those who's power is seen but not known. You who hide in the moss and mushrooms and all that give the forest it's spirit. You who trade in names and faces and voice and all that makes up identity. You who's wisdom is overlooked however deep your veins run. You that takes those outcasts seeking belonging and wisdom and makes them part of your being. Whether they call you spirit or fae or power or cryptid or entity or alien. I seek your presence. Come to me as I deliver myself to you. Rise up to take me for I am curious and willing. As I am lost, you will find.


	33. Chapter 33

The form is safety. It may itch and scab as the confined soul strains and stretches to be free. But some of the things that like in the darker corners where the world meets the not-world can't touch you. But safety is not safety when it's a different kind of pain. Fleshy walls keep out dreams as well as nightmares. And when the mind brushes against the realms that are called Void or Abyss or a thousand other names, the existential discomfort of static form is clear. You do not know what force of cursed nature inflicted this upon you, but your soul will always assert itself. Hope that at least this freedom will grant purpose.


	34. Chapter 34

Remember to leave offerings during the moonrise. It may not make the sky refract into the brilliant orange of it's solar counterpart, but it's subtlety makes it no less worthy. Those on earth say the moon represents the dark and the night, and yet it wanders into the sky regardless of whether the sun is up. The moon reveals the illusion of stasis and one day, you will forget the meaning of stagnation too.


	35. Chapter 35

Scream into the circle. Scream and yell and cry and beg. Your voice will magnify exponentially, vibrating down to your bones. No one will hear you. No sounds will leave the circle. Your voice just reflects off the invisible edges, louder with each cycle. Maybe the ground will deliver your message of fear, pain, and despair, but you doubt it. Just keep hoping someone will hear you, as the circle suffocates any thoughts of leaving. You could just leave, of course. Nothing is stopping you taking those steps. But would your voice go with you? You can't be sure. So keep shouting. The sound may escape it, and you can follow.


	36. Chapter 36

Relax, spread yourself, and just float. Gaze at the sky. Every star in the cloudless sky flickers a little bit of light onto your skin. Breath in. Breath out. Let the cushioning force of water determine your destination. Let those who live in the aquatic realm notice you. Let them see you, observe you. It is their decision what happens to you. Maybe they will punish you with wrath and violence for trespassing. Maybe will be a gracious, welcoming host or your guide through they realm and ways. Maybe they will leave you be. You do know which outcome you wish for. But close your eyes, and feel the starlight dance on the waters who's liminality may turn into journey, grave or home. The future is not your decision, but the present has been granted to you. So relax, time will move you to your destination.


	37. Chapter 37

Rope, twisting and snaking around you, transitioning from free to restricted to confined to trapped. Eventually, it reaches your arm and had. You grip it, almost on instinct, just as it tightens, and pulls up. Up. Through the ceiling as if was not the solid and impermeable shelter it promised. You realise that you're shaking, and the rope is gone. But still you rise, vibrating aggressively. It's not pleasant, but it doesn't hurt either. Some experiences are not as simple as pleasure or pain. But without turning, without dropping, you are falling without dropping, in all directions. The world of matter is gone. Where and what is this new place are you to explore. The Change isn't over, but you are ready, or at least, you must be.


	38. Chapter 38

The world will etch it's cruelty into your flesh, burning and searing. Hold onto those who will care, appreciate their warmth and comfort. One day peace and justice will allow true rest. But stay in the arms of those you love. It is a long journey ahead.


	39. Chapter 39

Sitting on the hill, gazing at the horizon. The dew soaking into your trousers. Normally this would be uncomfortable, but something on that special line of retreating curvature transfixes you. You cannot tell what makes this horizon different from every other you have seen. But you realise there is a noise coming from beyond. It increases in volume slightly, just enough to confirm it's existence, but not enough for you to be able to make out any message that might be sent with the soundwaves. Is it calling you? Is it even for you? You know it is for you, but how you could not say. But light means nothing at this present time, as you strain your ears, and take a couple of steps forward, desperately hoping that the sound will not disappear before you have understood it. Soon you get close enough to realise that it is not any language you recognise, nor does it come from a human voice. But you come closer, knowing that it is for you. For it is the message of your future. They fill you. gently leading your form into it's the destiny it has been given. The change comes as waves of relaxation, for you are becoming these strange noises. It is clear even if not many will understand. But not many have ever understand you. Physicality was not meant for you and you welcome the escape to your new state of being.


	40. Chapter 40

Look at the swirling microscopic rainbows on what you see. Every colour circles itself in a miraculous quirk of liquid, light and mathematics. What would be evidence of imperfection only creates beauty to the eyes of all who look upon it. What you could never see decides, in tiny ways, everywhere, to reveal part of itself to anyone who cares to look. In all ways both benign and deadly you will be surrounded by a diversity of refractions. But only one will truly take you. And some paths only travel in one direction.


	41. Chapter 41

What colour does your soul shine? Does it burn orange or shiver out an icy white. Feel it's texture, is it sharp, soft, wet? Of course no human sense can truly describe the soul. But approximate. The pain of the confinement of the flesh cannot be eternal. So where your self meets the other, let the line between them blur. You can never truly seperate them and whatever the bonding creates will carve out your new path. Let yourself ache and burn, squeezed out of the box society crushed you into. Adjustment is rarely pleasant. But if you let your spirit breathe, the path you travel will be freer than you can know at present. Just try not to choke on the truth.


	42. Chapter 42

As delirium takes me I bind and contain. I salt as I summon the powers that remain. In ink and in pigment the shapes and symbols grow. I form this new being into this bound tome. What secrets you have will be revealed to those who look. May those who's minds are ready become what you contain, and those who are unable become molten and shake. As I have written, future souls will twist, but the eldritch and the mundane will meet today in text.


	43. Chapter 43

Rope has wrapped tightly round your wrists. Suspended, stretched by gravity over air and ocean. From hands to toes you have become a spectrum real and aching pain at your arms, to untouched mist at your ankles. You do not know how you got in this position, but you do know that at some point you will get out. The rope will be cut and you will fall. Not into the physical sea beneath you but into what is called Void or Abyss. But you will enter the solvent of unreality and dissolve into formless power. Endure this moment for it will end and your future has already been guaranteed.


	44. Chapter 44

It crawls over your hands and wrists. Whether it be worm or snake or tentacle you're not sure, but it's got a strong grip even without legs, or fingers. You look for one end or another but it tangles itself seemingly infinitely, a Gordian knot of squirming, fleshy rope. It is somehow both heavier and lighter than it looks, though any attempt to try and guess relative size, and thus assess how heavy it should, ends with you being entranced in the way it moves over your hands. It's not slimy, or damp but the texture seems like it's just on the edge of threatening to soak your hands, like a sponge about to be squeezed. You try to describe it's colour, it seems prismatic and iridescent without being translucent., and you cannot name any of the colours it consists. The trance it has given you lifts, only slightly, enough for you to notice it covering more than your hands, worming over your shoulders and torso, gripping you, squeezing you, not so tightly as to affect your breath, but easily enough so your movements are now guided by whatever will it possesses. You lean into it's handless arms, it will hold you. You do not know where or when you will wake, or what you will have become when you do. Just sleep. You couldn't worry about it now even if you wanted to.


	45. Chapter 45

When climbing does the abyss, taking breaks is important. Find a ledge, and make camp there. Ensure the ledge is large enough to give half a meter or so between you and the the edge. Hammer or drill a rod into the wall, and tie yourself to it. Rest, but sleep will be less and less as you know it. For what lies at the bottom has it's tendrils all throughout the gash in the Earth, and the moment between consciousness and unconsciousness are when it wraps itself around you, and pulls. Hopefully the precautions you took will stop it from taking you completely, but, the harder it pulls, the more it leaves in you when you wake. The dreams it leave are, while not unpleasant, cannot truly be called comfortable. It is common to wake up crying, but from what emotions you will not know. The being at the hidden depths will have left it's mark, deep, deeper that heart or mind or spirit. Each time you sleep you will be closer in grasp, and it's pull will be ever stronger. Eventually, no precautions you can take can prevent it encasing you completely, as it pours you into itself via what is neither tentacle nor tube. The world it will take you was of course, the place where you can find the right questions to ask. Hopefully the precautions you took made the transition not so jarring as to destroy you. But that was the risk you took.


	46. Chapter 46

The pot of ink seems to be a shade of black taken directly out of the void of space. You hold it up to the light, trying to see a slight shade of colour. There is none. Taking a deep breath and unscrewing the cap, you notice it smells vaguely like mint. A couple of drops on canvas is all you need to pour. You screw the cap back on and watch it bubble for a few moments before the bubbles pop, and spread their darkness over the canvas. It takes a couple of minutes but the eclectic method of spread the ink uses is fascinating. At last it is covered. You blow on it, but you know it's already dry. Tentatively, you go to touch the surface. The surface is gone. You smile and reach inside the dimension the ink has created. With your arm up to your shoulder inside it, you grip something. It's soft, almost wet, but before it can leak through your fingers, you pull it up to the surface. It does not leave the surface of the canvas but you see flickers of magenta and poison green. You stir it with a couple of fingers until the strands weave together into a circle that is almost defined by borders. You sigh. There is still more work to do and more to understand


	47. Chapter 47

Walk along forest paths. Feel the softness of decomposing twigs and leaves underneath your bare feet. This is a kind place, or at least it is to you, at this moment, Climb underneath fallen willow and oak, rest on ancient logs. The gentle canopy protects you from harsh sun or uncomfortable rain. Find your way to the stream. Walk along it's bank, or in it's water. Feel it calm you, wash your mind to another place. Do you know where you'll be when you are back in body? Regardless, you'll find out.


	48. Chapter 48

There is an aversion to you isn't there. Whether it's fear disgust or something else you do not know, but whenever those who resemble normality congregate, you are outside. Maybe on the edge, but never truly welcomed. What reveals your nature? Is it your voice, it's cadence. Your eyes or mannerisms? Or maybe something deeper. Regardless, you have suffered for it. When you're lonely, or cornered by bullies, you have sometimes wished for normality's arms, when you've tasted acceptance, you've wished to stay there. But you know that it is not for you. Your path belongs to the dark and cold and rough. I know you fear this at your weakest. But you know where your friends and strength truly lie. So hold my hand my dear voidling. I will help you on your way.


	49. Chapter 49

There is a moment, the rain has begun falling but has not reached the ground. The air is humid but night quite cool. This is a time of great potential, and the final moments of peace. If you can time it correctly, take a long stick and draw a circle in the earth. Scatter the dust wiped off old books and seeds of extinct plants. Then wait for the rain to arrive. If you ever want to leave this pane of existence. Lie inside the the circle. You will know when you have arrived.


	50. Chapter 50

As I dance the danse macabre, what is dead and burned or buried, returned to the cycle of nature grants me it's knowledge. The sounds of coughing, choking, bleeding, excreting. The ghosts of pestilence and sickness and living rot are my friends and allies. They follow the tracks well trodden, and sometimes in the places not so often frequently. They do not harm me, for i am shielded in perfect void. But while their harms i cannot allow, their signals of oozing lesions and regurgitating stomachs enthral me. I avoid, and yet i follow. That is our morbid relationship, but we will be both friends and foes. Forever.


	51. Chapter 51

The mycelial roots crawl under the concrete ground. They grow and spread and fill the dirt with their secret whispers and unknowable thoughts. They know not why they lie in the dark hard dirt but still, they grow and feed like all life. One day, they will form huge caverns of ominous tranquillity, their skin becoming the walls and ceiling. Some will wander in, confused, curious and alienated. Some will walk out, changed from what the fungal cavern tells them. Others will wander endlessly into it. What becomes of them, that's between them and the mycelium route they walk.


	52. Chapter 52

Scatter the leaves, scatter the petals, the warm decomposing ground is your resting space, your home. Branches that aren't quite empty of leaves lie overhead, home to the occasional crow. One flies down to you, curious. It pecks at your shoulder. It doesn't hurt as much as you expected. You check the injury. Dark green juice dribbles down your arm. Another crow comes down. It looks at the first crow for an instant, then at you. You know what it is about to do. Another peck. Another wound that isn't quite as human as you expected. As more crows come to greet you, you notice that you are still walking forward, following a path of unnaturally neat fungi and scattered berries crushed under your bare feet. You wonder what will welcome you at the end of this journey.


	53. Chapter 53

The empty pathway lies ahead of you. The mist and the darkness hides it's exact shape, but the approximate direction is clear. It's not a clean guide. Brambles and nettles string and scrape your ankles as you walk. You climb over felled trees and the crunch of something that might have once been alive. You see a warm, faint light ahead, peeking out from an eerily silent forest. Eventually you come to a clearing, with tiny flames, as if from invisible candles float in the air, lighting a circle of broken sticks and still pointed thistles. You take off your coat and shoes so as two feel the warm, damp earth and cold air. Walk on the edge of the circle, closing your eyes, keep walking until the night and the mist guides you movements into fluid, into dance. Keep going. You won't be here when you open your eyes.


	54. Chapter 54

On this night where the veil thins and reality softens, As we hide in darkness and disguise. Reveal yourself in liminal unknownable glory. Whisper to me your secrets. Alter soul and mind so I might comprehend a fraction of the truth. And when the morning rises again, be with me as I walk the cracks of physicality. Be with me for i was never of this world, your truths are a comfort for me and a curse on those who would break me. I invoke you as void, as shadow, as Khaos, as darkness, as abyss, as the eldritch, the alien, the other, the horrifying beauty of what webs of society try to destroy. I welcome you for you are my Guide, and one does not break from kindness in your wake.


	55. Chapter 55

Dream of the forest my friends, ancient rowan and spruce and oak and yew. The trees have seen you grow, the earth has felt you bleed, the moss and ferns and fungi have heard you laugh and shout and whisper and cry. The stream that flows through it has tasted your hopes and regrets. You are closer to it than you realise, as it reaches out to you in the form of a crow. It looks at you, cawing at you. You look back, trying to figure out why this crow lacks the fear of most birds. It's cawing seems more complex than you except. Ideas and speculations as you try to understand this strange animal distract you, until you realise that your skin is growing patches moss and lichen and mushrooms, and your hair is turning into green leaves. You can hear the forest tell you that it doesn't want to leave you, and that it will care for you. And at last, you can hear it's song. It's a song you will learn, as you will take your place among it.


	56. Chapter 56

The world as touched the boundary, maybe just for a moment, but it doesn't take long. The line that some call order is thin, and it will always, always break. They that have long crawled on the edges, whether of society or reality will find their power in unexpected spirals of colour and blood and bile and gas. So draw what you must my friends, because something has to give.


	57. Chapter 57

Face of wicker, flat without features. You see it in the forest one day, accompanied by a faint buzzing noise. You wonder if it can see you for it has no eyes. It's robes are long and formless, with the almond coloured fabric disapearing into the leaves littering the forest  
You take some steps closer, curious as to it's activities. Before you can inquire as to who this being is, it turns, facing you directly. You can see that craftwork of it's mask is intricate and tight. It's eyeless stare causes you to freeze, with the buzzing sounds louder now. It bends down to the floor, and picks up a stick, runs a finger along it's length, and hands it to you.  
You look at it's gift, meaning to ask what it's purpose is, but somehow your voice will not come. It turns to leave, disappearing behind the trees. You notice that it's path away from you is covered in a trail of a sticky, almost yellow substance. If you didn't know better you'd say it was honey. You begin to return home, confused by the encounter. You keep the stick though. Your instincts tell you that not keeping it is a bad idea.


End file.
